


A Good Dog Doesn't Bark

by deepestfathoms



Category: The Prom (2020), The Prom - Sklar/Beguelin/Martin
Genre: Character Study, Depression, Emotional, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Loneliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29119473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepestfathoms/pseuds/deepestfathoms
Summary: The Prom through the eyes of someone who's full of longing.
Relationships: Alyssa Greene/Emma Nolan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	A Good Dog Doesn't Bark

**Author's Note:**

> eyyyy back at it again with by girl Winnie!!

Winnie had been there when Alyssa blew up peanut brittle in chemistry. She wasn’t supposed to be, but she was in classes ahead of her own grade. In her head, she believed overachieving and doing things the rest of her class couldn’t do would win her the affection and attention of her parents.

She was born into a rich family; her father owned a line of hotels in Indiana and her mother just happened to marry into the right bloodline. But her father was not actually her father, as her mother went behind his back and laid with a man she was not married to. From the affair, Guinevere Blair Thompson was born, with the striking image of something more creature-like than human, at least according to her family.

Everyone said Mary and Thomas hated their first-born, illegitimate bastard of a daughter, but Winnie never believed it. Even when they said it to her face she never _really_ believed it. She wondered if it was for that reason why she was still so hopeful that someone would come around and save her, even after all these years of being alone.

But back to the meet-cute she and the rest of the class got to witness firsthand: it was a mess. Winnie didn’t realize a piece of solid sugar and peanuts could splatter as much as it did, but she should have expected as much when they were using hot plates that could reach up to 1004°F. Alyssa had looked very startled, hands in the air, mouth hanging open, peanut brittle chunks spattered all over her smock and goggles. Emma, on the other hand, looked absolutely in love from where she was gawking from the other table, which Winnie hadn’t really understood at the time. Not the whole romantic feelings thing, but how she found a ruined chemistry project and a girl sprayed in so much liquid nut sugar that it looked like some kind of horrific Candyland crime scene attractive. Looking back on it, she still couldn’t quite wrap her head around it, but maybe lesbians were into that sort of stuff.

Anyhow, the chemistry teacher had been understanding, at least, and everyone had a good laugh about it. When Winnie went home and told her family about it over dinner, they ignored her.

* * *

Music was not a foreign thing to Winnie, although she was always lost in a tangle of thoughts and objectives. It was easy for chattering and scratching and flipping of parchment to drown out a melody, but it was easier for a weary body to absorb it.

When she was nine, her family’s maid, Maggie, had given her an iPod for Christmas. It was a tiny, green little thing, but it had meant the world to her at the time. At first, her parents were against such a gift, but then they learned that she would leave them alone for hours to go run around outside and play while listening to music as long as they just paid a couple of dollars for some songs. Winnie hadn’t gotten many new songs very often, maybe once in a full blue moon, so she listened to the small selection on the iPod probably a million times, but she knew to never be ungrateful for it. The one thing her parents drilled into her was discipline, respect, and thankfulness. They made sure to remind her that they did not have to keep her when she was born.

But music had been one of Winnie’s best childhood friends when she was growing up, among other minuscule things. She could probably still recite all the lyrics to Hannah Montana’s “Ice Cream Freeze” if she thought hard enough.

That being said, Emma’s performance of Imagine during the Thanksgiving assembly was a much needed respite.

Holidays were never good for her family. Or, really, good for her. She could deal with the abuse from her parents and younger siblings to an extent because she had her room to hide in, but during holidays, everyone seemed to gang up on her, as if it were a family rule to hate her simply because of the way she was born. If the party was at home, her parents didn’t allow her to go to her room, for once wanting her around so they could parade her all over the house like she was their own personal circus freak. It was like some kind of sick running joke to see who could insult her the most, and Winnie was so tired of being the punchline, so goddamn tired.

But Emma’s performance had been her rope ladder dropped from heaven, as temporary as it was. 

It was funny, she thought, how much it ended up moving her. She and Emma hadn’t been friends yet, not that they’re the closest as of now. And she had known, even then, that Emma had not been singing to her on that night, probably didn’t even know who she was aside from her hair color and family, but something about it made Winnie feel like maybe, just maybe, things would be okay this time. And for that, it was enough. 

* * *

Winnie had felt bad when Emma was outed, but she had felt really bad when the prom was cancelled and everyone started blaming her for it. She didn’t know what was so wrong with the way she loved other people and, frankly, she didn’t think it was any of their business. But she was but a soft breeze in the face of a wrath, unjust hurricane, and there hadn’t been much she could do aside from watch pitifully from the mass of swarming reporters who were desperate to get some dirt on the story.

Not there was much she could do anyway. Everyone seemed to think she could do anything, make anything happen, simply because her parents had a lot of money. She had been faced by several people who got mad at her over feeling basic human emotions like depression and anxiety, claiming that she should be happy because she was financially stable. She had not argued with them, of course, because of her own depression and anxiety, which she seemed to wear like a muzzle. Because even when the dark matter of Winnie’s being wept through the cuts in her skin and her stride was more akin to a slump, Winnie would never ever speak up against anyone. 

Whether that was from the way she was trained by her parents or from her own fragile mental state, she wasn’t quite sure. It seemed like there was no difference at this point.

* * *

Disobedience was not taken lightly in Winnie’s family.

She remembered this one time, standing in the archway of the grand living room, her little fists clenched defiantly at her side and her chin raised up, as if she actually thought she had some sort of power in her stance.

The figure in the armchair that had been in front of her turned to look at her and squinted up at her for a moment as though trying to figure out who she was. And then it sagged back into the chair with an air of disappointment. Like it had been expecting someone else, someone better.

Winnie stared back through the thick mop of red hair that had started to hang in her eyes lately because she’d been too lazy to cut it. She was eleven and standing in the doorway of the mansion kids only befriended her to see the inside of, feet squared in her tattered shoes (she hadn’t gone and gotten herself a new pair in awhile, though she was long since overdue) and jaw set grimly.

“…You’re what?” Said the figure slowly.

“I’m drunk, Mother,” Winnie had repeated, feeling a thrill that was equal parts excitement and terror run through her from head to toe as she said the scandalous words. She watched those dark eyes apprehensively, dimly aware through the buzz of alcohol that she was shivering.

Later, on nights when she had nothing better to think about (there would be a lot of nights like that), she would dramatize this event in her head. She’d think about what might have happened if she’d been yelled at or sent to her closet or even slapped across the face and sent sprawling. It wasn’t that she did this to feel sorry for herself, or to pretend that it had been worse than it actually was.

The truth was that all of those outcomes were things she wished had happened more than what actually had.

From the expensive leather armchair, the figure stared at her a moment longer, before simply shaking its head in silent apathy and looking back down at the baby it was cradling.

“This is why I didn’t hold you,” Said her mother, dismissively.

However, she doubted her mother was able to say the same to the disobedient actors that randomly showed up in the middle of a PTA meeting.

Although Winnie wasn’t able to attend the prom because of her being too young, she was still dragged to the PTA meeting due to her parents being one of the main backers for school events. They thought the donations gave them a good reputation, which, in fairness, it did. But they didn’t even get the chance to spew any of their nonsense during the meeting because those four random people burst in and suddenly began hurling insults at all the parents.

One of them, Barry Glickman, she believed he said his name was, said they had come all the way from New York to save Emma from the horrid homophobia she had been facing. It wouldn’t be until later that Winnie would feel weirdly jealous over the event. She had been dreaming of someone coming in and saving her from her awful family for years, and all it took was getting the high school prom cancelled for some stupid reason? If she had known it was that easy, she would have outed herself as acearo a long time ago.

The meeting itself had been complete chaos. Everyone was running around yelling, some lady kept screaming at them, and Emma looked not one bit grateful at being rescued by these four people, while Winnie would have killed to just have _one_ of them show minor interest in her. But that was what she got for letting her own envy take over, she supposed.

After everyone was able to escape the gym, Winnie’s parents drove home growling and snarling to each other like angry wolves. Winnie sat in the back seat silently, looking out the window, imagining she was in a better place. When she attempted to speak up about what happened, her mother threatened her and she shut her mouth instantly.

She looked out the window again and wished a nice family would come and sweep her up and love her and maybe even let her get a kitty. It was a common fantasy for her, one she replayed and lived in dozens of times, hoping that maybe someday it would come true.

She used to think wishes were stars. So cold, so many…so out of reach.

* * *

When the prom was put back on, Winnie was indifferent. After all, it wasn’t like she was going to go anyway. But it had become painful to watch other people be happy when she didn’t even get a little joy to spare. 

She did her best to avoid the promposals to keep her jealousy from rising, but they were everywhere. No matter where she went or where she looked, there was some happy couple hugging and laughing and kissing, and it made her stomach twist in envy. It wasn’t that she had no romantic partner, it was that she didn’t have anyone period. Everyone around her looked so happy when she was still stuck in an endless loop of self-loathing that she didn’t know how to stop.

* * *

Winnie felt nothing over the reveal of the fake prom. She had been at her house when she got the news, but there was no pity or sympathy or amusement or anger. If anything, she felt relieved, as morbid as it was. She wasn’t the brunt of the joke for once. So she tucked her phone back underneath her pillow and buried her into her blankets once again.

You weren’t supposed to keep your phone under there, but sometimes she was hoping it would catch fire and kill her.

* * *

Winnie had been hoping the whole prom ordeal would be over with by the next day, but it was all anyone talked about. Like the promposals, she couldn’t escape it. And it made her irrationally angry because she wanted to go back to try to win over people’s attention, but it was impossible to do so when nobody would spare her a second glance. For awhile, she came to loathe Emma for this, but would later feel incredibly guilty over such a thing.

Hating someone for doing something that they had no control over.

She was turning into her parents.

* * *

Winnie triggered her fantasy again when Trent came to her and the other kids. She had just been standing around with them quietly, nothing doing much, as she always did. She was always the third-wheel of the group, no matter how hard she tried to be involved.

But then this man came around and began lecturing them on their hatred. Winnie tried to make herself think he was only talking to her, that nobody else was there, and it made her listen to him a little bit more, not that she was ever homophobic to begin with. 

After everyone was onboard, she stopped Trent for a moment, asking if she could ask him a question.

“Do you really think this’ll help?”

He nodded to her. “I do. These kids just have to relearn the way they were taught, but I have hope. Everyone has light somewhere in them.”

“Can anyone be good?” Winnie urged.

“That is a different question, kiddo.”

* * *

Winnie didn’t know how to feel about Emma’s song. In a way, she felt like it made her seem broken because she couldn’t not change herself for other people. She wished she could take Emma’s advice, but it felt impossible for her.

At least she got to hear Emma singing again. For a brief moment, like before, before her parents yelled for her from downstairs, it all felt okay.

* * *

Winnie understood how loneliness felt, even while she was surrounded by dozens of people energetically dancing inside the school gym, happier than she would ever be.

Beyond that, she understood what it meant to be taken by something, be it sickness or power or fear. Or grief. That one, too, would make you its own. That one especially.

Was her entire being not proof of that?

In the end, it was not just the river’s water lapping at lonely Edgewater shores, having foreshadowed this weight. It was not just the mist of essence fading in the place of a friend who was never actually there. It was not just her biological father, warping and vanishing in a strange, confusing dance. Not just her mother that bore a gown as silver as her own eyes, resisting in the face of her own realization that the bastard belonged to her more than the other offspring she bore. Not just the infidelity that gave her life.

It was so much more.

It was everything she could have and everything she did not want to do. It was frustration and selfishness and bitterness and jealousy. It was the fact that she would never ever truly be loved by anyone no matter how hard she worked for it and prayed for it. It was _want_.

Winnie wanted so badly. She wanted for her mother’s love, and so she took what she could of what little she gave, and built herself a fantasy out of a throwaway title. She wanted so badly for more of her, even if it meant fighting. She wanted back the little moments of closeness with anyone at all, moments she hadn’t thought to hold onto back when she was still under the illusion that she could keep them, keep getting more of them.

How easy would it be, to solve things without just the cry of a voice if she hadn’t been destined to be silent and unloved?

How much easier, to bring life to fading hope and provide friendship for others? For herself?

She wanted painfully for the small things like the shinier markers at the store, like the cool antler decorations at the restaurant her father liked to go to. Like Emma’s humming or Alyssa’s hugs or Kevin’s affectionate bumps or being one of the players in the cheer games Kaylee will start up or someone that those actors would look at and want to rescue. She wanted to hang out with the cheer team more often and actually talk to them in a way that they would hear and listen, and she wanted her family to accept her as one of them and not shun her as a bastardized creature that just so happened to live in the same house as them.

But just as with the rising of the sun, none of this want meant anything at all.

And so, she stood against the wall of the gym as the prom, the new prom, raged on around her and wondered what it was like to find absolution in her own fingernails. She would plunge and drag and drag and _drag_ until there was nothing left of her but shredded flesh and red blood upon the pretty blue dress she was wearing, but that would not be enough, not for her. Still, she wondered, if that would make them look her way, even for just a moment.

There couldn’t be comfort. There couldn’t be reassurance. The pain was still too loud, the wounds were still too raw. Her heart and her soul weren’t ready to accept that there was a reason for why this was happening to her; her mind was still trying to distinguish between reality and fantasy, between the soothing effect of a false illusion and the harsh truth of a world where she could not get what she wanted.

“Why?” She wondered, but there was only chattering voices and blasting music replying to her, and that lack of words was an absence that stung more than she could accept.

“Why?”

She had wondered for too long but still nothing had come up and maybe it would never be answered because sometimes life was like that, a storm in the middle of a summer day and its lingering residue following her for weeks and months. Maybe one day she’d stop asking herself that but, for now, it was just all she could think about, over and over again.

It didn’t make sense.

Nothing made sense and it had been like that since the day she was old enough to realize everything she did was for nothing. 

There was regret in her body language. There was a baggage full of words that should have been said and things that she should have done. Maybe, if she had done them, things would have been better and she wouldn’t be feeling so awful when she was supposed to be happy.

She wished she could go back in time. She wished there was a way for her to erase all those tiny mistakes she had made, all those times she had wanted to reach out but, instead, turned her head away because it still hurt. Her image was everything and, yet, what was left now? There was no image to defend, there was nothing left because there was no one around to truly see it.

This much was clear: she was a being of wanting. And she was regret, too, born of betrayal and anger, tucked and shaped into a frame too small to hold all this need. It is no surprise when the hairline fractures grew into cracks, nor when the cracks widened into gaping holes where the flesh had begun to collapse.

Winnie was collapsing.

* * *

When Winnie trudged home late that night, her mother demanded to know about her whereabouts. From that, an argument was sparked.

“I know you’re angry--” Her mother was saying. “But with how you were created--”

“Born.” Winnie seethed. “I was _born_. And I’ve committed no crime by existing.”


End file.
